You are allowed to sit and think for a while–in fact, reserve some time just for that, every day.

You are allowed to count your blessings.

You are allowed to succeed.

Note that success is not necessarily the sort of success people think of today, in business, in school, in other things. Success can just be getting out of bed every morning, remembering to eat breakfast, or watching a sunset.

You are allowed to let go of your expectations.

You are allowed to adapt to reality without changing who you are.

You are and are allowed to be important.

You are and are allowed to be yourself.

You are and are allowed to be an individual.

You are and are allowed to be different.

You do and are allowed to make a difference.

You are allowed to remember others with fondness.

You are allowed to not want fair weather friends; good on you!

You are allowed to want to do more than date, work, get married, get a house, have a kid and that’s it. You are completely allowed to do more.

You are allowed to change.

You are allowed to break if that’s what it takes to build a better you.

You are allowed to walk in the sunshine.

You are and are allowed to be free.

You are allowed to laugh.

You are allowed not to laugh if that’s what you want.

You are allowed to scream at the top of your lungs.

You are allowed to talk about it.

You are allowed to not like coffee, or chocolate, or other things everyone else seems to love so much.

You are unique. Remember that.

You are different. That’s okay.

You are human. Think on that when you fail. Failure is a challenge. It’s a beautiful prelude to success.

You are beautiful. Don’t let other people make you ugly.

You are vulnerable. That’s what makes you so very strong.

You are yourself. Don’t ever try to be anyone else. Don’t try to live up to other people’s expectations. Think of the best version of yourself and try to be that. Let your failures make you stronger. Let yourself be. Let yourself breathe. You’ll grow. These things take time.

You are allowed to smile. (For no reason at all, and for every reason in existence.)

My last post was just an outpouring of a lot of emotions that have been building up for the past couple months. I probably should have warned you guys about content for that poem, but I was kind of concentrated on just getting the feelings out. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been really busy lately; my Spring Dance Recital is coming up, and I have a ton of school work to do over the summer because I want to graduate when I’m 17 not when I’m 18, so my apologies that this blog has been so neglected. I’ve been trying to post more, but I think everyone else is just as busy–so good luck with school plays or finals or whatever you’ve been up to. I’ll be praying for you.

I’d like to request prayers for me; as you could probably guess reading that last post, I really need them. Thank you so much.

I’ve also been kind of sick with a horrible cold, so all of you stay healthy, okay? Release that stress and remember to smile.

And now, I have a special treat for you; character studies of three of my characters! I’ll probably be doing more for other characters later because it really helped me see the characters better. I might post those too. I’ll also probably post a sample chapter of the story these three are from; I’ll just have to make sure it’s a chapter that doesn’t have spoilers, because this story starts building right away.

Anyway, there are two girls and a boy, Calliope, Ryin and Eridun. I want you to try to guess which is which; I’ll confirm or deny your suspicions in a later post, mwahahaha!

Without further a due;

She’s the girl who you really shouldn’t like, but you do. She’s the girl you first had a crush on; cliché, you know; pretty, smart, athletic, with an enormous smile and a load of friends. She is the girl who is taller than everybody else and you should resent it, but you don’t. She’s the durable pair of jeans in your closet that you wear on your comfy days. She’s the huge sweater you wear because you can. She’s the fluffy socks you wiggle your toes in, and just love holes into. She’s the smell of the salt sea or your favorite Grandmother’s sweet perfume. She’s the raucous, adorable laughter that makes an entire hallway smile for no reason whatsoever. She’s dark, perfect skin and pearl teeth and gentle teasing and a comfortable leader you’d follow over the edge of the world.

He’s the boy who is shorter and less muscular than the other boys and who goes unnoticed a lot. He’s the boy who plays piano and has long, graceful fingers and a smile like hot cocoa, warm, sweet and wonderful. He’s the gentlemanly boy who always asks the wall flower to dance. He’s the boy who is really pretty when you get to know him; it’s only after you notice the flower that it starts to blossom. He’s that warm, old quilt that you curl up in on cold winter nights. He’s nights of watching stars and whispering secrets with your very best friend. He’s the smell of old-fashioned flowers on a hot summer day, the feeling of water on your skin when it’s broiling out. He’s dancing, heart breaker brown eyes and sweet smile and beautiful laughter and the friend you’d rather die than leave.

She’s the girl whose smile is the first thing you notice. She’s the girl who can’t stop drawing and whose fingers are constantly stained with pigment or charcoal. She’s the girl who never wears makeup and really doesn’t need it. She’s the girl who is stronger than she looks, the one who can hide a lot of pain with a laugh. She’s the sturdy boots that keep you warm all winter and never wear out. She’s autumn leaves crunching underfoot, a welcome home hug from your sister. She’s the smell right after it rains, the smell of chocolate chip cookies, and the smell of wind after a day inside. She’s the soft burr of an accent that warms the pit of your stomach and leaves you feeling better. She’s the freckles that pop out the first day of spring and hang around till the last day of fall. She’s fiery hair and indescribable brown eyes like a chuckling brook and artistic fingers and determined jaw and the friend who is loyal to a fault and who always makes it better.

So; those are my three sweethearts from this story. Can you guess what the story is about?

The old manor house off Kingsbury lane was nothing more than a museum of relics of bygone times. Some of the richer, wealthier citizens both living and dead were immortalized there in portraiture of the style of whatever was in fashion at the time of the painting. Post-mortem photographs were occasionally featured on the walls. Passersby entered the huge house to gawk at the imposing oversize pictures on the unimposing undersized walls, to gossip underneath opulent chandeliers and to sample the delicacies still prepared down in the kitchens as though the family yet survived.

But the reason some came was because of a portrait, unsigned and untitled, set ignominiously to one’s right as one climbed the stairs to them main gallery. It was a fantastically done piece. Perhaps it was the crisp lines and the excellence of the brushwork that drew viewers. Perhaps it was the color or the unusual, disconcerting charm of the piece. But more likely it was the subject matter.

A girl stood in a ball gown, facing away from the viewer, her head turned slightly so that a fragment of her profile was visible. Her upper face was concealed by a black, feathered mask, through which shaded eyes peaked, their color shadowed and indiscernible. Her lips quirked upward in a smile which was nearly mischievous; her hair was dark, but one could not be sure that it was the natural color of her hair due to the style of the girl’s dress. The dress was definitely the formal uniform of a mask, the anonymous law keepers who performed acts of courage in protection of crown and kingdom.

Legend and myth had grown up around the masks, with the natural sense of mystery and romance that any gallant, anonymous young person incites. There were portraits of masks in other places, imagining what they must look like unmasked, but the portrait of the girl was distinct and singular. There was no signature, no trace of any known artist, and certainly no attempt to assign to the girl in the mask any particular identity. She was simply there, a vigilante with impermeable eyes and smile.

But one day in June, with the weather hot and clammy and the balls, picnics and summer engagements bringing gossip to their peak, a piece of white paper was found stuck in the frame, with a single name on it, and a mailing direction.

Aren taught Ivy to love watching the stars, early, early, early in the morning, when the city lights were out, and the streets were quiet. He taught her countless other things. He talked to her about God too, sometimes, but it was through prose and poetry, quotes and the wise words of old and gone theologians that he taught her. It was a slow process, respecting her boundaries and teaching her the limits and bounds of beauty. Garret, after a few weeks, adapted to all Ivy’s boundaries, and danced around them like she had known Ivy going on forever, the same way she did with Aren.

It occurred to Ivy that Garret loved Aren like she loved no one else, and thought more of him than she did of herself. But Ivy soon learned that she loved Aren too. He had become an essential part of her. It was both disturbing and beautiful, and in that, it was something like life.